by Naomi Kryske
“Unlike other courts, however, we have not had witness support service until January of this year, a critical lack, I believe. Most individuals who attend a coroner’s inquest have had previous contact with the legal system, and their demeanour here may be coloured by those experiences.”
“You expect them to be upset.”
He smiled briefly. “Exactly, yes. This jurisdiction is the first to provide any sort of support to those who may be called, and we feel very strongly that the sooner we can demonstrate its value, the more likely replication will be.” He peered under the edges of several stacks of papers looking for a pen. “Now, may I ask – which CCSS services were the most helpful to you? You ticked several boxes on the page.”
“It was reassuring to be contacted by them ahead of time so I knew what to expect and what not to expect. Being shown the layout of the court helped, too, but the most important part was the volunteer’s quick response when Colin’s – my husband’s – injuries were being detailed. She escorted me from the court and stayed with me until I felt strong enough to go back.”
He looked up from his note taking. “Other thoughts?”
“It was strange to appear in a court that didn’t try to dispense justice.”
“You’re correct. We don’t assign blame. Our brief is to determine who the individual was and how he or she died. We seek to provide answers to some of the questions that loved ones have. In some cases that information leads to criminal prosecution and accountability, but homicides are not the only cases we hear. Violent or sudden death can also result from road traffic or industrial accidents or suicide.”
“Your title is Dr. Millar. Did you ever practice medicine?”
His jaw tightened briefly. “Yes, I had a surgery – what you would call general practice, I think – for some years before returning to school for legal training.” He looked down at the query form. “I see that you did not question any witnesses or make a statement to the court. May I ask why?”
Because it seemed anticlimactic. Because it wouldn’t have changed anything. Those answers would show disrespect for his job. “No,” she said simply and then regretted her lack of cooperation. He was much less brusque out of the court setting.
“My apologies,” he said immediately. “I didn’t realise the interview would distress you.”
“I didn’t, either,” she said. “My husband has been gone over a year, but sometimes it’s still hard.”
“Of course. We’ll stop here for now. I may, however, have further questions in the future. If so, may we contact you, Jenny?”
“Yes, Dr. Millar,” she answered as he nodded his head in regretful acceptance of her use of his title. Why, she wondered as she took the tube home, would a doctor seek a job where he couldn’t heal? And train for a legal job where justice was not the goal? And was this support project his only way to minister to the living? Being a coroner was a dead-end job if ever there were one, but she shouldn’t have given him a hard time just because she hadn’t heard from Simon.
CHAPTER 30
All relationships had their ups and downs. Consequently Simon made another effort to reconnect with Marcia outside the bedroom. In bed she was responsive and he more than pleased, but physical satisfaction didn’t last long. If they were to become permanent partners, as Marcia wished, he needed to feel close to her in other ways as well. She’d let her blonde hair grow longer, giving her a youthful innocence which appealed to him. He liked her confidence and her irreverent sense of humour, but lately it seemed that for every step forward, they took one or more back.
They’d bought a quick meal at the chippy across the street and washed it down with bottles of Peroni which she kept on hand. Now she was kneeling on the floor thumbing through her DVD collection.
She spoke with him only occasionally about her work, although his experience as a Special Forces medic had given him some understanding of the pressures of her job. She rarely asked him about his. “Let’s leave work at work, shall we?” she said. Tonight, however, he needed to relate a recent incident which still disturbed him, when a German ex-Special Forces bloke had threatened to kidnap his baby if his ex-girlfriend didn’t allow him to see her.
“She refused, and he produced a firearm. Somehow she fought herself free and rang the triple nine, but the baby was left in the house with the suspect.”
She looked up. “So – your team was called to handle it?”
“The ARV guys – armed response officers – arrived on the scene first. They surrounded the house and waited for us. But the German started acting very matey with them. He was chatting and even offering them tea when we arrived. We reinforced the perimeter and prepared to begin negotations. Suddenly two ARV officers jumped over the fence and attempted to floor the suspect. Two big, burly coppers against one skinny German. No contest, right? Wrong! He fought them off and started to retreat to the house, where the baby was. We heard a single shot, then a loud crack. The lives of our fellow officers being at risk, Davies and I knocked down the fence to assist them. Suspect arrested, baby safe, fortunately.”
“Happy ending then,” Marcia concluded, still preoccupied with the videos.
“Not exactly. The ARV guys reported that the suspect had produced a pistol from a pocket and pointed it at them before firing to his left instead. The bullet went right through the fence next to where Davies and I were standing. The local super commended the ARV guys for bravery and for bringing the incident to a quick conclusion, but the SO-19 chief inspector ripped them. Took them off Ops. Too right! No one would have wanted to work with them.”
She frowned. “Why? They showed initiative, didn’t they? They took charge.”
He tried to stem his impatience with her civilian view. “Their tactics were unsound, unplanned, and unnecessary. You do not rush a suspect who is armed, and this suspect was violent and trained as well. And there was the baby to consider.” He’d been glad to hear their dressing down. Wished he could have had a part in it.
“But, Simon, it all worked out.”
He took a deep breath, not understanding her lack of concern for the baby, for Davies, or for that matter, for him. “Their job was containment. Ours was resolution. The ARV guys could have been killed. Davies and I, even standing behind the fence, could have been also. Bloody fools, both of them.”
“You’re rather inflexible,” she remarked.
“I have to be. You know what firearms can do. There’s no room for compromise. Their actions were rash and irresponsible. The unit has no room for blokes who want to be heroes. They deserved their reprimand.”
“It seems to me they just made a mistake, were a bit overeager. Were they new on the job? And you said the German was friendly.”
“If we’d met the German in the pub, we’d have been mates after a few pints, but the moment he used a gun to force himself on his ex, he became a suspect.”
A tense silence settled between them.
“I’m glad you’re all right,” she said, almost as an afterthought.
Wanting a connection, he tried again. “Rough day?”
“No more than usual.” She paused. “What are you in the mood for?” she asked, referring to the videos. “Something with skin?”
On most nights, that would have done nicely. Now, however, something was missing. His conversations with Jenny made him uncomfortable at times, but they had created a bond of trust between them. “Not tonight. Early run tomorrow. I’ll give you a hand with the washing up before I go,” he said, changing the subject, but not before thinking that Jenny’s reaction to his story would have been different altogether. He would have had her full attention. She would have expressed fear for his safety, perhaps even questioned him about how often such risks occurred. She would not have had Marcia’s sense of detachment. She would have taken his hand. Just his hand – but it would have been an indication that she cared. Some blokes wanted a partner who didn’t worry overmuch, but expressing no concern at all? He shook his head but could not rid h
imself of his dark mood.
CHAPTER 31
Alcina was angry. Tony didn’t want to hear about her plans. He cut her off when she tried to tell him. Said none of it made any difference. She heard the scorn in his voice. How could he? Didn’t he see how much it all mattered to her?
She had wanted to discuss with him the problem of the dog. Tony had dismissed it immediately with insulting laughter and a brisk wave of his hand. She had been speechless. She had thought the topic would interest him. He hadn’t been interested in any other aspect of her life lately, and she had no desire whatsoever to hear about his difficulties. He was sheltered at the government’s expense, fed regularly, and exercised. She was the one who had to try to make ends meet in spite of exhaustion and strain.
She cut their session short and stomped all the way to the tube station. On the train she continued to seethe. It cost Tony nothing to spend time with her, while she had to pay for her transport and use – no, waste – precious energy making the trek to see him. She tried to recall the last time he had smiled at her and could not. She cursed him, unaware that she had spoken aloud until several people – men, even – moved away from her.
She exited the train and climbed the steps to the street. On her way home she made a new resolution: If Tony wouldn’t help her, she would help herself. And another: If he wouldn’t encourage her, she would encourage herself. She stood as tall and as straight as she could, forcing her shoulders back and her chin up. Then she whispered to herself, I am strong. I am determined. I am confident.
She smiled. She felt better already.
CHAPTER 32
Out of the blue Simon called Jenny, asking if he could call round. She hesitated. It was late, she was ready for bed, and his voice had an edge to it. “Are you still angry with me?” she asked.
“It’s done and dusted. Our row. But I need to see you, and I’m on my way.”
She hastily shed her nightgown, pulling a t-shirt over her bare chest and slipping on a pair of jeans.
He banged on the door instead of ringing the bell. “I want to come through,” he said in a loud voice.
She stepped back, her feet cold on the wood floor.
“I’ve been down the pub with Davies and some of the others. We had a rough one today. I could do with a pint.” He followed her into the kitchen.
She handed him one. “What happened?”
“Man in Southwark threatened his wife. Damn it, we were boots down as soon as we heard and we were too late. When we made entry, he’d already killed her.”
“Simon, come into the living room and sit down with me.”
“Not possible to sit.”
“Simon, please stop pacing! You’ll spill your beer.”
He paused, looked at it as if he had forgot he had it, then drained it. “Another, if you will,” he said and resumed his activity.
She had never seen him so upset. Wishing she could help but not knowing how, she brought him the beer and asked, “Simon, would you like something to eat?”
He shook his head. “No joy in food at the moment.” He took a long swallow. “He slashed her, stabbed her, then slit her throat. He butchered her! Her blood was everywhere. Kids were huddled in the corner but not out of reach of it.”
The color drained from her face. “There were children?”
“Young ones. A boy and a girl. In shock, I’d guess.”
“What about the husband?”
“Alive, I’m sorry to say. Dropped the knife when we came in so no threat to us. Then tried to tell us he had to do it, she deserved it, her fault, never his. All bollocks.” He drained the last of the beer and held the empty container out to her.
“Was this the worst thing you’ve seen?”
“All the ones with sprogs are the worst. They hit you hard.”
She took another beer from the refrigerator but sat down on the sofa, not wanting to hear more but knowing he needed to tell it. “Simon, whoa. Please. You’re making me dizzy. You’ll have to sit down if you want this one.”
He joined her and reached for the beer.
“Was Brian there?”
“Yes, the entire team. Davies will be glad to see his family tonight.” He held the beer to his lips. “Three attacks. One would have done! He killed her over and over.” He downed the beer in several long swallows then fidgeted with the empty bottle.
Afraid he would drop it, she took it from him and set it on the table.
“It was a bloodbath,” he continued. “Our best wasn’t good enough. I just want to forget it.”
“How do you forget things like that?” She put her hand on his knee to still the drumming of his foot.
“Sometimes you can’t.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close.
It had been so long since a man had held her. She closed her eyes. His mouth found her mouth, not with a gentle kiss but with the kiss of a man who was hungry. She tasted the alcohol on his breath and didn’t care, kissing him back. When his hand moved across her chest, she knew she should stop him, but she didn’t. Then she felt his hand under her shirt. A moan escaped her when his fingers found their mark. If her lack of a bra surprised him, he didn’t show it. He didn’t speak. She didn’t think, just responded, her kisses more fervent than before. When he reached for the zipper on her jeans, she didn’t pull away. Breathing hard, he pushed her back on the sofa, fumbling with her clothes and his own. She lifted her hips so he could remove them then again to press against him. Awash in sensation, she wanted to know his touch, his smell, more. She wrapped her arms around his neck.
He moved against her, faster and faster, his breathing coarse and rapid. “Jenny,” he mumbled before going still.
For a long moment she lay with her lips against his rough cheek, feeling like a woman again, waiting for her heart to return to its normal rhythm, before the shame engulfed her. “Simon,” she choked. “Get off me. You have to leave.”
Still dazed from what he had drunk, he pushed himself to a sitting position and looked her up and down. “Jenny, my God. Bloody hell. Sorry.” He reached for his trousers.
She covered her naked half with a pillow from the sofa. What had she done? How could she have let this happen? She had never been so immodest and impulsive, and she wished that he could dress as quickly as he had undressed.
“Jenny – ”
“Just go,” she whispered, trying to blink back tears. “Go away.”
He was out of the flat before he had laced his boots.
When the door closed behind him, she called out for Bear. “Where were you?” she demanded. “You could have bitten him, or even me, for that matter!” She cried for her lack of fidelity to Colin, in his flat, without love. She had felt shame before; for a long time after her rape she had felt it, until therapy had taught her that there was no need for her to feel responsible for another’s action. This time, however, she could not escape the fact that her action had been the cause. Simon had been drunk, but she had not been. There was no excusing her behavior. When eventually she was able to move, her remorse followed her into the shower, into bed, and through the night.
PART FOUR
All changes…have their melancholy; for what we leave behind is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.
— Anatole France
CHAPTER 1
His mind clouded with fog, Simon Casey wasn’t certain at first if he were awake. Then he moved, felt his head pound, and knew that his dry mouth and stiff limbs were no dream. He was lying fully clothed on the bed in his small plain Ruislip flat. He took a shallow breath and immediately regretted living above an Indian restaurant. Although weak, the stale smells from the previous evening’s cuisine threatened to turn his stomach.
Gradually the events of the previous day came back to him. The raid. The dead woman. Her children, covered in blood and fear, cowering in the corner. The man who had caused it all. Bastard. The anger he still felt at him made his stomach lurch. Best if he didn’t move much yet.
To a man the team had felt it. No one had voiced it, but they all knew the pub was their first stop when the shift ended. Like the others, he had ordered his next pints before draining the ones in front of him. Somehow he had got home.
He groaned. No, he’d made a stop on the way. This time when he moved, he welcomed the pain in his skull because he remembered going to Jenny’s, needing to forget himself. He blinked. The light coming through the window struck his eyes. He closed them but still saw what he had done. Used her.
He tightened his stomach muscles in a vain attempt to stop the nausea. Marcia. He had betrayed her, not thought of her once when he was with Jenny. He could not continue to see her now.
As slowly as he could, he eased his legs to the edge of the bed and lowered his head between his knees. With his eyes closed and his breaths shallow, he managed to remove his boots. How could he have been so bloody daft? He had thought of nothing save his own need, and now Jenny would hate him.
He stripped off what he could on his way to the shower. Still feeling unsteady, he leant against the wall and waited for his stomach to calm and his mind to clear while the cold water washed over him. He had broken bridges before but rarely looked back. Regrets? Not many. Waiting as long as he had before defending his mum when his dad abused her. Allowing excessive focus on self after his Shakyboats injury. Being unwilling to accept Rita’s love and comfort.
One more. Not speaking up to Jenny about his feelings for her when she was in witness protection, when he and Sinclair had been on equal footing.
He gritted his teeth against the bile in his throat and removed the few remaining pieces of clothing. He and Sinclair had never been equals. Sinclair had wealth and breeding, a stable family line. He, Casey, had nothing. Once Jenny had begun to heal, however, she had seemed glad for his presence. Perhaps as an American she was less concerned with family class.
